Dear Officer ,
Why do I scare you?
Is it because I am complying to your orders?
Did my flinch come too close to your precious gun?
Or were my cries of agony from your crushing weight on my ribs too irritating and triggering so shooting me was your first and only option?
Well, what do you suggest I do? Shall I sell drugs instead of CD’s? Would that make this murder case go that much faster? Make your job that much easier. All I was trying to do is what you said I never would. Be a providing father for my kids. I am no different than you except I don’t get to go home to my children and tell them stories about my job like you do.
Like the time this wild child had a fake gun on the playground and was pointing it at innocent people. Thankfully, you with your real gun was able to dispose of the threat within just two seconds of arriving on the scene. No need to reasonably assess the situation because you knew exactly what your target was, thanks to colour coding.
Oh, or what about the time you had to face the giant Garner? Heard he was a tough one to take down but you did not let size stop you, did you? So what, you might of used an illegal maneuver to tame the beast. An illegal tactic to go along with an illegal act, right? Please, remind me what was the crime again? Oh right, selling single cigarettes without tax stamps... the audacity. He continued to say he couldn’t breathe, not once not twice, but 11 times. Well if he could breathe it would defeat the purpose of a chokehold, would it not?
I bet your kids love to hear your stories. Too bad I’ll never live another day to tell my kids my story...
Exactly what is my story?
Or in other words, what bullshit can you come up with so that you walk out that courtroom a free man? Amuse me officer, what will it be this time?
Maybe you’ll go with the, “He reached for my gun,” excuse.
Oscar Grant was restrained when shot in the back and Eric Garner was handcuffed when his face was forced into the sidewalk. But I did see him graze by your gun when gasping for air. So, I can understand.
What about, “He looked suspicious,”
A teen walking out of a connivence store in a black hoodie is enough to justify shooting him in the chest? If everyone acted on our suspicions with killing, then I could see how your reasoning works.
Let’s not forget my favourite one...
“I feared for my life,”
Really Officer? Come on you can be a bit more creative than that... Really Officer?
You really believe that my black legs would get to you before your bullet gets to me? If it was a race between my bullet and yours, I could maybe, just maybe, comprehend, but too many of the times I’m unarmed. So you’re going to have to explain to me just a bit more how this is a fair race!
You honestly can say that you feared for your life when you had Alton Sterling arrested, on the ground and his firearm without reach?
You’re telling me that when Philando Castile told you he was licensed to carry the firearm in his car, you still feared for you life?
When Philando Castile was following orders and reaching for his license and registration, you still feared for you life?
When Philando Castile put his hands up in a gesture we all know to be the “Hands Up, Don’t Shoot” signal...
You’re telling me after all this precaution you still feared an innocent black man?
Shame on you.
Shame on you, for acquiring a phobia of your brother’s and sister’s.
Shame on you for using beté noire in it’s literal sense to define us.
Shame on you for using your jurisdiction as justification to your frustration.
Because officer when you get off duty and put that badge down, you and I are equal. Equally unarmed, equally vulnerable and we equally matter.
So I ask you again...
Why do I scare you?
Sincerely, Bené Noire